


Won't Let Bitterness Quench My Thirst

by the_rck



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Loyalty, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Mirror Universe, Moral compromises, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/pseuds/the_rck
Summary: “Doctor? Are you well?” Spock sounded-- If this had been his home universe, Leonard would have called Spock’s tone ‘concerned.’It was a subtle thing, and under similar circumstances, Leonard and his universe’s Spock would have pretended that it wasn’t there at all. Except that his universe’s Spock wouldn’t have cold-bloodedly murdered anyone. “I’m fine.” Leonard fell back on irritation and almost snapped out his words.





	Won't Let Bitterness Quench My Thirst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



> Title from Edward Hirsch's poem "Bertolt Brecht."
> 
> I started this for Smut Swap 2018 but had to default due to health problems, both mine and my family's. I also never actually achieved smut, so... Erm. Merfilly, I hope this is something that you enjoy as a not-Smut-Swap thing.
> 
> The dubious consent is on both sides but for different reasons. The story also contains non-explicit references to child abuse, eugenics, and Mirror Amanda Grayson being a terrible person.
> 
> I have ignored all Mirror Universe canon beyond the TOS episode.

Leonard knew when it happened. Well, later, he knew when it _had_ happened. In the moment, he just thought he was dehydrated. The world went gray, and his knees almost gave way. After that, as the world resolidified around him, he found himself leaning on the local equivalent of a tree.

His first thought was that he hoped he wasn’t allergic to the damned thing. He wasn’t as a general rule, but with exploring new planets, everyone found something they reacted to. Usually, he checked everything before he touched it with bare skin. He stepped back and used his tricorder to analyze the foliage. He wasn’t allergic, but one of the people with him would be.

He looked around and didn’t see the other members of his team. The foliage wasn’t heavy enough to hide them if they were within a dozen meters. “Ramos?” If he’d been in the gray for long enough for them to walk away, they’d all have been around him and calling for medical help. They weren’t supposed to get far enough away from each other not to be able to maintain line of sight. “Unsong?” He wasn’t entirely surprised not to get an answer.

He pulled out his communicator. “McCoy to Ramos. Ramos?” He knew he was talking to no one at all, but he said, “Don’t touch the trees,” anyway. Half of him hoped that the explanation for the dead air was as innocent as Ramos having had a life-threatening allergic reaction that meant that Unsong had to take her back to the ship.

The other half of him knew he couldn’t be that lucky. The real question was whether he, Ramos, and Unsong were all in the same trouble or if Leonard was alone.

He hesitated. Protocol for this sort situation dictated that he call for backup. Which made sense given that his people might be hurt or kidnapped.

Or dead. He really hoped no one was dead.

He looked around again and took a moment to listen.

Something else-- possibly more than one something else-- large was moving nearby.

Leonard went completely still. Maybe whatever-- whoever? --he was hearing would pass without noticing him. He didn’t give the possibility that he was hearing Ramos and Unsong even a split second of thought.

He ought to have assumed he was hearing them. Later, he thought that part of his mind must have known.

None of the almost trees looked climbable, and there really wasn’t anywhere to hide if someone came close enough to see him and happened to look in his direction. Anything using scent would find him even faster. Running would make noise that might draw whatever was out there toward him.

Somehow, Leonard wasn’t surprised to see a familiar figure approaching. He didn’t think, even for a moment, that he was seeing his own Spock. The uniform was the wrong color, and this Spock still had a beard. Leonard had had nightmares for months about this Spock. The forced mindmeld had left the man’s fingerprints all over Leonard’s mind.

Once he was completely certain that he’d been seen, Leonard said, “It would, of course, be you.” He didn’t bother to keep the acid out of his words.

The not-really-Spock Spock stopped and eyed Leonard. “Doctor. I had not expected to see you again.” He looked around carefully, and it took several seconds for Leonard to realize that the other man was looking for Leonard’s team.

Which meant that Spock’s people hadn’t captured Ramos or Unsong. Or hadn’t told Spock about it if they had.

“Am I in your universe or are you in mine?” Leonard was almost certain that he was the one who’d crossed over, but he wasn’t quite ready to give up hope on that. Except that, if Leonard was still in his home universe, then Ramos and Unsong almost certainly weren’t. Leonard was more likely to survive the experience than they were. If nothing else, he knew what was going on.

Sort of.

“Captain!” Two other men in the uniforms of the Mirror Universe came into view.

Spock turned, drew his phaser, and fired at the one wearing red. That man didn’t have enough time to scream as he disintegrated. Spock hesitated a moment then fired at the one in blue, his own universe’s Leonard McCoy. The other McCoy crumpled. Spock looked at Leonard. “I prefer you,” he said. “Without knowing how you got here, I doubt I can send you back.”

Leonard stared, speechless. His mind noted that Spock must have changed the setting on his phaser between shots. Leonard hadn’t had the right angle on Spock’s hands to see it happen. The possibility of telepathic control of a phaser was simply-- Not acceptable. Also, very, very unlikely.

“Doctor? Are you well?” Spock sounded-- If this had been his home universe, Leonard would have called Spock’s tone ‘concerned.’ 

It was a subtle thing, and under similar circumstances, Leonard and his universe’s Spock would have pretended that it wasn’t there at all. Except that his universe’s Spock wouldn’t have cold-bloodedly murdered anyone. “I’m fine.” Leonard fell back on irritation and almost snapped out his words.

Spock raised an eyebrow but didn’t question the statement otherwise. “You’ll need his uniform and…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second then pointed his phaser at Leonard. “Your qualms are charming but inconvenient.”

Leonard raised his hands, tricorder in one, communicator in the other. He looked Spock in the eyes and said firmly, “I would rather die.” He wouldn’t but only just.

“I know.” Spock twitched the phaser sideways then said, “Strip him and put on his uniform. No one will question Harris not returning, but I would prefer to have a Dr McCoy.”

Leonard started walking toward his doppleganger. A few feet away from the other man, he bent to put his tricorder and communicator on the ground. He left his phaser clipped to his belt and hoped that Spock would think that he’d forgotten he had it. He went to his knees next to the other McCoy and was greatly relieved to see that he was breathing.

“I can do most of this with you unconscious, Doctor, and I will if I need to. I simply note that, if you are unaware, you will also be… completely without influence or input as to what happens after.”

Leonard nodded. “I’d gotten that far.” He put a twist in the words to show that he wasn’t happy.

“Having two Dr McCoys would require explanations that I would prefer to avoid.”

Leonard was pretty sure he wanted to avoid them, too, because the mindmeld wasn’t the only bit of horror from this universe that had plagued his dreams. He started removing the other McCoy’s shirt. He made himself pretend that this was simply a patient, that he could be professional about it. The whole thing wasn’t weird or wrong.

It was, and the other McCoy was probably going to be dead soon.

Leonard closed his eyes for a moment and remembered the experiments he’d seen and the records he’d read while pretending to be this universe’s McCoy. It helped a little, just not enough. Leonard went still with the shirt on the ground beside him. “ _Primum non nocere_ ,” he murmured.

“An admirable notion for someone who can afford it.”

“I can’t--” Leonard knew he had no choice. “I would like him to live.”

“Leaving him to starve would not be kinder.” Spock actually sounded puzzled. “There is little here that a human body could digest.”

Leonard knew that. “I would not be less responsible if he died that way.” He turned to look at Spock. “I don’t understand why you would prefer me.”

“Because, Doctor, if you and I ally, you will not betray me.” Spock’s face and posture gave no hint of anything else.

That made sense on a very cold and practical level. Leonard studied Spock for several seconds then turned to remove the other McCoy’s shoes. As he did so, he tried to come up with a way to make keeping the other McCoy alive not just feasible but useful in a way that would balance the risks. Leonard wasn’t sure he knew enough.

Oh, yes. That was the key. 

“I’m more likely to be able to pass as him,” Leonard said softly, “if I can ask him questions.”

“An informational mindmeld would be more practical.”

Leonard didn’t quite keep himself from growling. It took him a moment to find words again. “Only if you’re willing to risk shattering my mind.”

Spock looked offended.

“I’m _human_. I don’t know about you, but I can only handle so much at once. A whole other life all at once? You’d fry me. You might have someone left after, but it probably wouldn’t be me.” Leonard was pretty sure it also wouldn’t be the other McCoy. “Also,” he added quietly, “I actually would rather die than have _that_ in my head.” He put every bit of loathing he had for what he knew about the other McCoy into his words. “All of you are monsters, and I don’t want a monster that’s almost me inside me.”

There were several seconds of silence before Spock spoke. “I can keep you physically alive, Doctor. Moral and ethical… protection… is beyond what I can do.”

“When I lose that part of me, I probably will put a scalpel somewhere you’ll regret.” Leonard knew he was right.

Spock nodded. He looked as if he understood. “Nevertheless, it is not something I can offer. Perhaps you’ll find your way home before it happens.”

Leonard inhaled sharply. That suggestion upped the temptation, and he didn’t see any way that Spock didn’t know that. “You don’t actually think I’ll get home.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to judge the effect of his words on Spock.

Spock shrugged. “The _Enterprise’s_ chief medical officer would be in an excellent position to divert resources in that direction.”

Leonard understood that to mean that Spock wouldn’t be assisting directly. Leonard remembered a lot about the scientific explanations for their previous trip to the Mirror Universe, but he wasn’t sure he remembered enough. He’d never gone beyond the basics in studying physics, not given how much there was to learn in his own field.

Unless he got very, very lucky, Leonard was going to be trapped. He was going to owe every breath, every drop of water, every morsel of food, to Spock. He suspected he was going to owe more than he could ever afford to pay. “‘Another day older and deeper in debt…’”

Now Spock definitely looked puzzled.

Leonard supposed that protest songs had just somehow never made it into this universe’s written history. He couldn’t imagine that they’d never existed at all. He shrugged and decided not to try to explain the reference.

Antagonizing the closest thing he currently had to an ally would be suicidal.

“If you won’t take his memories,” Spock said, “then we need a plausible reason for you not to have them. Suggestions?” He sounded completely calm. “We’ll need to check in with the ship in half an hour. I would prefer to be able to leave then.” He looked around them. “I’m not convinced there’s anything here-- apart from you-- that justifies my spending more time downside.”

The last time Leonard had been in this universe, he’d made the mistake of digging into the medical research records. He had a clearer picture than he wanted of what might happen to him without Spock’s protection or, even with it, if the wrong person found out. He continued stripping the other McCoy. He tried to shift his perception of the person on the ground in front of him so that he was looking at someone as good as dead, someone to whom he could only offer palliative care.

It really didn’t help. The unconscious man could die while unconscious. He could die of exposure and starvation. He could only live if Spock locked him-- or Leonard-- away in utter isolation and never let anyone else know he was there. The _ISS Enterprise_ probably had facilities for that, but people would know that someone was in there.

And whoever it was would end up crazier than a bedbug. Leonard was fond of his sanity, and he would never find a way home if he ended up in a cell.

When the other McCoy was naked, Leonard stood and stepped back. The other McCoy had scars that Leonard didn’t. He eyed those, shook his head, and said, “Those would take more than half an hour and…” He didn’t have the right equipment with him anyway. “I don’t think I could do the work myself, here or anywhere else.” He also didn’t know what other injuries had left deeper marks inside the other man’s body.

Spock nodded. “I will avoid putting you in situations that necessitate medical treatment.”

Leonard didn’t say anything further until he’d put on his counterpart’s clothing. As he tried to get the shirt arranged properly, he said, “How much do your people know about this planet? We can justify almost anything based on some sort of poisoning or energy sucking cloud or--” He shrugged. “Probably better the energy sucking cloud. They’ve been known to appear and disappear, and nobody knows why or if they’re even all the same species.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “The universe is full of dangers.”

“And that’s what happened to--” Leonard nodded to where the unnamed crewman had died. “It did just enough to put holes in my memories. The real question will be why you don’t dispose of me given the… weakness.” He didn’t like how easy it was to think this way.

“Ah.” Spock looked as if he understood the problem. “And you’re likely to give yourself away in other areas. Kindness…” He shook his head.

“I already told you what happens if I lose that.”

“Yes.” Spock studied Leonard. “I would rather have an ally than a... pet, but you may be safer if you start as a pet and then gradually… recover. To the extent you can. I am widely considered eccentric, and it would give my mother a reason for why I keep refusing her offers of attractive and fertile young ladies.”

Leonard wasn’t touching any topics around Spock’s mother. He’d liked Amanda in his own universe. Given what he’d seen of this universe before, he wasn’t going to like anyone he met. Amanda Grayson, particularly given what Spock had just said, was probably not going to be an exception.

He really didn’t want to think about Sarek.

Leonard had obviously been staring too long because Spock said, “The offers are a test, of course. If I accept a spy, she knows that I’m stupid or weak or certain that the spy won’t matter.”

Leonard had no idea what to say.

****

Leonard spent a lot of the next two weeks going back and forth between trying to learn the physics he hadn’t ever bothered with and trying to cram in as much knowledge as he could find about local etiquette, hierarchies, taboos, and such. The first time he’d been on the _ISS Enterprise_ , he’d mainly noticed the things that were about to kill him and the things that broke his culture’s taboos. Genocide and assassination and torture tended to grab people’s attention when they weren’t used to them.

Leonard hoped he never completely acclimated. He was already starting to notice it all less, but he thought that, if he hadn’t been confined to quarters due to his ‘injuries,’ he’d probably have started trying to murder people, himself. Occasionally, he wondered how much of the rot he could amputate before someone else killed him and whether or not the worlds of the Imperium could recover. The poison might be systemic already.

It was so much easier when he could pretend it was all clinical.

The Imperium had laws and traditions, but none of them protected barbarians or slaves or… anyone else really. None of them did much but make sure that the people who had power kept it. The other McCoy had had power, not much but some. If Leonard wanted to live, he was going to have to keep it.

But he still got sick when he remembered stepping back and letting Spock murder the other McCoy. Leonard was almost certain that, if Leonard had tried to prevent it, Spock would simply have stunned him and killed the other man anyway, but that didn’t make him feel less guilty about it.

Part of the guilt was the realization that the uncertainty in that ‘almost certain’ was wondering whether or not Spock would simply have killed Leonard and the other McCoy, both, at that point as too much trouble. Not trying to stop the murder had been an act of cowardice because Leonard would much rather live while someone else died than die with them when his death bought nothing.

He’d die to save someone. If there was even a chance, he would. He had risked it in the past. 

He just wouldn’t risk it for someone who was doomed anyway, and that was Leonard’s first compromise with the Mirror Universe.

Spock brought Leonard dinner most evenings and ate with him. Other meals were brought by people Spock trusted. Leonard had the impression that many of the people the other McCoy had trusted weren’t to be relied on now that he couldn’t reciprocate, favor for favor.

Spock said that one of the challenges was gauging the point when the risk of being pulled down, too, was greater than the risk of later retaliation for abandonment. Everyone needed a patron higher up the food chain, but an error in making that choice was as lethal as having no support at all. “People who don’t wish to play that game,” Spock said one evening, “choose other careers. People who are bad at that game never leave the Academy.”

Leonard had nothing to say to that. It was alien to him in a way that made him feel like he was standing on a wobbling ladder while termites devoured the wall the ladder leaned against. He could cling and wait to fall, or he could try to climb down. He might still fall, but it wouldn’t be as far or uncontrolled. 

It was just that, once he set foot on the ground, he wouldn’t be the sort of person who could go home.

He ate a bite while he thought, some sort of vegetable the color of eggplant rind but with a shape more like asparagus. 

Spock would certainly tell him all about its nutritional profile and origins if Leonard asked a question or two, but it would be a distraction. Spock was also very careful to let Leonard know the provenance of any sort of protein served. The way he did it had told Leonard, very clearly, that sentients might be on the menu in certain places and on certain occasions.

“I would never have applied to the Academy,” Leonard said at last. “It’s-- Well, he and I are that different.”

“I had noticed as much, Doctor.”

Leonard sighed. “You don’t actually have a plan, do you?”

“I have many plans.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes. “Eventually, you-- _we_ \-- have to commit to something.”

“Yes.”

Leonard recognized the expression on Spock’s face from years of working with the Spock of his own universe, so he focused on his food for a few minutes.

“Our options are limited,” Spock said at last. “I can very likely keep on as I am for many years. I’m known for lack of ambition and for competence. You could stay with me for that. We could pursue power. I had thought to, but I am not sure that you would… accept what we would have to do. I could retire and go back to my mother, taking you with me. I suspect that she would notice something… off about you.” He shook his head. “I am not certain what she would do with that information. It would not be wise to depend on her having any affection for me.”

Leonard had read this Spock’s medical file and followed the references to the very ugly-- not that any weren’t-- offshoot of eugenics that had led to his birth. Non-humans might be innately inferior, but most species had traits that might be useful for improving human stock, and Vulcans at least _looked_ more or less human.

Only past experience with interacting with patients facing life altering injuries and illnesses had let Leonard meet Spock’s eyes during the first day or two after reading that. He’d let the knowledge sit for days until he was ready to look at all of the implications. Leonard rather thought that it explained a lot about this Spock’s utter lack of ambition and control of his emotions.

Spock’s ambition had been to survive. The control was so that he wouldn’t be considered unmanageable. Leonard recognized it now as one strategy for dealing with inescapable abuse. He didn’t like wondering if he’d missed signs of that in his own universe’s Spock, but he couldn’t think that two entirely dissimilar upbringings would produce such behavior in both men. His universe’s Spock still had compassion and hope, though, so Leonard told himself that it had to be different.

“I’m not sure I’d rely on anyone in this damned universe having any affection for anyone else,” Leonard said. He didn’t bother to hide how horrifying he found that.

“Doctor.” Spock met Leonard’s eyes and held them. “I have some affection for you.” He said the words flatly, and his expression didn’t change, but somehow, Leonard didn’t doubt him.

Leonard felt like he’d been gut punched. “Spock--”

Spock shook his head. “You and your captain-- mostly you-- gave me hope that a world might work differently. The mind meld did not tell me how such a thing might happen, but… It gave me enough that I could not keep you. All four of you would be destroyed in the process of making things change. I could not do that.”

Leonard understood the part that wasn’t said. Now that Leonard had returned and was trapped, Spock ought to use Leonard ruthlessly to attempt to alter things, but Spock had hesitated.

Leonard wondered how many people in the Imperium would offer love for the _idea_ of compassion and kindness. He suspected the number was heart-breakingly large. Even one person was a heart-breakingly large number.

Spock cleared his throat. “We might also head for the fringes of the Imperium. Some of the backwater worlds will be left alone long enough for us both to grow old. It is… It is also possible that we might defect to one of the opposing powers. I cannot guess whether that would be better than staying.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a preference, Doctor?”

Leonard raised his napkin in order to give himself a moment to think. All of the options were bad. He met Spock’s eyes as he lowered the napkin. “I’m not worth that, Spock. I want to live, but I’m not worth any of that.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth twitched minutely. “That you can say that and mean it--” He shook his head. “That part means that you are. I worry that I will destroy you in trying to protect you.”

Leonard managed a nod. “I understand.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know everything. I hurt people sometimes. Without meaning to. Or with meaning to and then regretting it. Sometimes only regretting it because that’s not who I want to be.” He was pretty sure that Spock didn’t understand. His universe’s Spock would have. Already had when they met. “I’m human. Not the species designation-- I mean, I am that, too, but… I’m human because I’m going to screw up. I’m ordinary. I might get us both killed. I might hurt you.”

“I accept that. I am neither a fool nor a child.”

Leonard heard the note of challenge in Spock’s voice and realized that the other man feared he might be acting as both. “You’re not,” he confirmed. “No more than I am.” He understood now why Spock had chosen to protect him, why Spock had killed so immediately for it. Whatever Spock had seen in Leonard’s mind had created hope in an almost religious sense. “If I weren’t here, what would you choose?”

“Power.” The answer was immediate. “If change is possible, it will take power.”

Leonard considered what he knew of history. “They will kill you for it. The moment you tip your hand, they’ll murder you.” He raised a hand to forstall protest and then realized that it wasn’t coming.

Spock already knew that.

“Give me a little time to think. We go that way if I can’t… I think there are better ways. I’ll give you some ideas tomorrow or the day after, and you tell me why they won’t work.” Leonard smiled and considered Spock.

He realized that the man had probably never made himself quite this vulnerable before, not willingly. Pon Farr would have done it. Leonard wondered how Spock had survived that and then very deliberately decided not to ask. He didn’t want to know what terrible things Spock had done to survive. 

Leonard wouldn’t be shocked by any of it-- he was sure of that-- but he suspected that Spock would be ashamed and that that shame might destroy them both by making Spock hesitate.

Leonard probably would be heartbroken by knowing. It just wouldn’t do any good for him to fret about it because he might hurt Spock by fretting. Leonard could deal with it all if someone tried to use it against them. He hadn’t met anyone in this universe who would understand that someone in his profession could have that sort of weakness.

“We have time,” Spock said. “Not a lot but some. The idea that I find you… amusing… will stretch a while longer.”

Leonard hadn’t asked what being Spock’s pet or Spock’s amusement might involve. He’d simply been glad that it was a pretense. Now, he wasn’t sure. If he committed to a plan with Spock, one that required Leonard’s presence, he’d have to give up on going home because leaving would be much the same as murder.

And he liked this Spock.

“They think you’re fucking me, don’t they?” Leonard very deliberately used the crudest verb he had for it. Euphemisms would just confuse things.

Spock hesitated then nodded. “I haven’t had a favorite before, but I also… I was not Captain. My position was too uncertain to attract any but the most desperate.”

Who wouldn’t be useful. Leonard heard that unstated addendum. “I’m more of a drag on you than any of them would be.”

“Nevertheless.”

That single word and the sincerity in it told Leonard that he wasn’t going home. His departure-- abandonment-- would destroy Spock, and knowing that he’d done that would destroy Leonard. It was something a little more calculating than love that made Leonard reach across the table and then not allow Spock to make the touching of their hands into a handshake, but Leonard thought it was close enough.

Spock-- either version-- was far from unattractive, and this Spock-- and the others in this universe-- would find eros more plausible than agape or even filios.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Leonard said.

Spock’s eyes widened slightly.

“If it’s okay with you,” Leonard said. “Unless--” He tried to look embarrassed, to look as if he feared rejection. “I’ll understand if you’d rather--”

“Doctor--” There was an almost imperceptible catch in Spock’s voice. “I would be honored.”

Leonard gave his plate the briefest glance and decided that he’d eaten enough for the the evening. He pushed back his chair and stood. He smiled at Spock, putting all of the affection he’d ever felt for his own universe’s Spock out in front so that the Spock he was about to kiss wouldn’t realize that pity had anything to do with it.

Spock, still looking as if reality had turned upside down, rose to meet him.

As their lips met, Leonard smiled at the realization that he recognized that expression on Spock’s face because he knew this Spock rather than because he remembered it from his home universe. He wasn’t making this choice because of the man he had known but because of the man he’d come to know.

Spock’s touch was tentative, so Leonard made the kiss definite and let his hands move along Spock’s shoulders and down his arms. Leonard wasn’t sure where Spock’s boundaries were or what he liked or didn’t. He was half-afraid that Spock would pull away and leave if Leonard moved too fast or startled him too much.

One of Spock’s hands moved to rest on Leonard’s breastbone. He made a small noise that Leonard would have called pleading if it had come from anyone else.

Leonard moved to kiss Spock’s neck then murmured, “I’m really here.”

Spock put his other arm around Leonard and pulled him in a little closer. He pressed his face into Leonard’s hair. “I know. I don’t understand why, but I know.”

Leonard wasn’t about to tell Spock the truth, and he hadn’t quite figured out an answer that wouldn’t make Spock think he was Leonard’s second choice, so he just pressed himself against Spock’s body, wriggled a little, and made a happy humming sound.

He’d find the answers later. The other answers. He had an important one to deal with now.

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely end up as the start of yet another series because I've got another 3-4K words and know what happens decades down the line. A snippet from that: 
> 
>  
> 
> _But that was a greater leap of faith than having saved Leonard by… murdering the witnesses. Leonard hated this universe sometimes. All of the time._
> 
>  
> 
> _And he was planning to spend the rest of his life trying to fix it. The odds that both of them would die horribly, even if they succeeded, were pretty damned high. Becoming a martyr had never been one of Leonard’s ambitions. He’d much rather be Lao Tzu riding a water buffalo into the sunset than any one of thousands-- millions-- of murdered teachers._


End file.
